Sharp Things
by lifeinpoetry
Summary: Pansy/Tom. Pansy finds a diary that has been left in a toilet in the girl's bathroom. R. Non-consensual.


Characters: Pansy Parkinson, Tom Riddle, Ginny Weasley

Pairings: Pansy/Tom

Warnings: Non-consensual sex.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Pansy watches wide-eyed as that Weasley girl, Ginger she thinks her name is, marches into the bathroom, into a stall, slamming the stall door behind her. The girl doesn't even see her. so intent is she on the black book she has in hand. Her mouth is turned down and the tears have left slick trails on her face. Pansy can hear the girl sniffling and snorting in the stall and pansy traces some of the graffiti etched into the wall behind her. Some of it looks to be ink and other in blood that has long since dried, in all essence dead. 'Tom' says one scrawl. So does another.

She can hear the other girl flushing the toilet. Again and again. There is the gurgle of water as it spills over. Pansy raises her eyebrows and waits. So many stupid girls have come to the bathroom in tears but so few have that desperation in their eyes. The desperation that is like poison on the tongue. She can almost taste it and it makes her smile.

That other girl (_blood traitor_ Pansy thinks) runs out and the water is everywhere now. Pansy feels cheated. If only the other girl had been slower so there would have been at least one good taunt. The toilet the girl had used is still gurgling and Pansy cautiously walks across the wet floor, the water sounding wet and sucking. Inside the toilet there is a black book. The same black book the girl left. She almost laughs. The girl left her diary in a toilet?

Pansy fetches the book and grimaces at the feel of the water on her hands. _Dirty_ is her first thought. When she opens it she sees that 'T.M. Riddle' is written on the first page in ink. All the other pages are blank, not one other drop of ink.

Confusion slips into her eyes and the corners of her mouth turn downward. She had expected childish scribbling (never mind that she, Pansy, is only a year older) and mindless devotion to that nasty Potter boy. Nothing. Her hands clench around the diary. She feels cheated of a good laugh. Of a good _mock_ to be more accurate.

She takes out her wand and does a quick drying spell. With a grimace she puts the diary into her bookbag and walks out. Under the bedclothes she would look further into the slim black diary of "T.M. Riddle."

* * *

Pansy tried another variation of a revealing charm for the eleventh time. No luck. No bright flash with a spill of written words. Disgusted, she tried another charm. A gleam of an idea twisted its way into her thoughts. With a sickly smile she took her inkbottle and quill out of her bookbag. Green ink, of course.

Perhaps she needed to write a password into the damn book. _Harry Potter_, she wrote carefully. The words seemed to sink into the book and disappear like smoke. Words appeared swiftly. 'Is this Harry Potter?' They seemed eager. She had seen such things before. A book in which people could write notes to one another. Who had little Weasley been talking to?

'No. This is not Harry Potter. Who is this?'

'Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?' Tom Riddle. The name was not familiar. Weasley had been talking to a boy. Smugness was hot in her mouth. Pansy wondered if her brothers would like that. That whole family was probably into who could see who and what one had to think about the opposite sex. They seemed sort of nosy like that. Damn blood traitors.

'I found it in a toilet. Weasley threw it in there.' Her hands itched and felt vaguely grimy again.

'Ah, Ginevra. I'm afraid she got rather tired of my writing to her. Do you know her friend, Harry Potter?'

'What house are you in?' the question was first and foremost in her mind. Who cared about Harry Potter when she had a boy who could give her something to sully the girl's reputation with. It would serve the whole family right if he were in Slytherin. There never was a more smug and incestuous family than the Weasley's (Pansy conveniently forgot that her parents were close cousins).

'Slytherin.' Her grin was sharp. Ron (the name was synonymous with idiot in her mind) would probably make himself belch slugs again trying to duel this boy. Why couldn't she place a face to the name? Perhaps he was older. All the better.

'I'm in Slytherin, too.' She decided to answer his question about Harry Potter. 'Harry Potter is in my class. He's the regular thickheaded Gryffindor.'

'Good to finally talk to another Slytherin. Certainly Harry Potter is not quite so thickheaded. I've heard he's done great things.'

What sort of Slytherin was this? 'That depends of what your definition of great is. I'm a traditional Slytherin, if you know what I mean by that.'

'Yes, I do. I agree with that view, as well. Do you want to see me?' The ink glowed red for a moment. Strange.

She hesitated for a moment. He couldn't do anything to her, could he? Probably was down in one of the other dorms writing by wand light. 'Yes.'

The diary glowed bright and it seemed like a door was opening. For a moment she saw red eyes and then she was falling. She closed her eyes and it was not until she felt a cold hand press against her fingertips that she opened them. He had such blue eyes, they glinted.

The boy was pale and unsmiling. She had never seen him before. This was not a Slytherin in a higher year. She had expected an image, nothing more. Fear blossomed, trying to spread, but she staunchly crushed it. She looked him boldly in the eyes and offered her hand, 'Pansy Parkinson.'

His smile was thin as he helped her up. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' his voice was calm. As if girls came out of diaries every day. Perhaps they did for this boy. She looked around the room and saw that it was a cavern with a ceiling so high that she couldn't see it. A statue arched out of one side. She could hear water dripping. Tom watched her with a cool amusement, seeing her eyes grow large as she took the vastness of the room in.

When he spoke again his voice seemed to slither into her mind and made her eyes glossy with a sort of wonderment. She listened to him, enthralled. For long moments they spoke of her schoolwork and her parents and then Draco Malfoy. her mouth curved into a smile when she spoke of Draco. 'He really is clever,' she repeated more than once, not knowing how young she sounded. The answers seemed to spill out of her. The words being pulled out on a poisoned string. She could not stop them.

Tom's voice was hard when he questioned her about Harry Potter. She told him everything she knew. She babbled. The words could not get out fast enough. Parkinsons never babbled. 'He thinks he's better than Draco. Always hanging around with the blood traitor and the mudblood.' Tom merely smiled coldly and continued to ask question after question. When she could think of no more, the ink of her mind having gone dry, he pressed a hand to her throat. Soft pressure. She found she could remember one more thing about that hated Harry Potter. The very thought of his name made her want to spit. Harder pressure, she could remember one more thing.

She was being pressed up against a wall and both of his pale hands were around her throat. His eyes were dark and every word on Harry Potter only increased that cold look in them that made them look like they hid sharp things. Sharp things that would make her bleed if they could. Fear lay in her stomach like a rock. Still she talked about Harry Potter, wheezing the words out. when she reached out one small hand to touch his face his look became shuttered.

He took her breath with one hard kiss. Seemed to suck her very soul out, she could feel his hands now on her shoulders instead of around her neck. Her throat felt puffy and bruised. She would live.

He took his mouth from hers and hissed a name in her ear. She stiffened in recognition. 'Voldemort,' was the hiss. 'I am Lord Voldemort.' He stepped back and his eyes seemed to gleam red. From his mouth came high, cold laughter that seemed to be sucked into her mind, where it would echo forever.

Her knees were shaking and she wanted to shrink down into a ball. Instead she said, 'My Lord,' and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. A Parkinson never cried. Never. The tears dried, never to reach her flushed cheeks.

When he took her mouth again with his own she yielded. it was all lips and teeth and tongue. Nothing like her first and only kiss with Draco. Blood filled her mouth and she almost cried out. This was her Lord and she must do as he bid. Even though he had at first looked like a mere boy, handsome, the way he moved. The way his head would dip and his eyes would dance with a black glee. The way he would turn cold and hard. She was in the room with the Dark Lord and even as legs shook, she felt like a young queen. Powerful.

When his hands moved down to thrust themselves between her legs she felt herself both clam up and move herself closer to his hands. To those fingers that pressed up against the seam of her underwear. She pressed her hand to her mouth, hard, to stifle in the screams. They seemed like they would tear her open if they managed to break their way out of her throat.

She both sobbed and begged when he shoved two fingers into her. She was still dry and she imagined she could feel his nails scratching his initials. He owned her and she had never seen him before today, in any form. Had only heard of him from her parents. Soon he was able to move his fingers, now three, in and out of her slickly. When he removed them and wiped his fingers on her underwear she saw they were wet with blood.

The scream that tore out of her throat felt raw. She fell mercifully into blackness.

When she came to her head was lying in his lap and he was stroking her hair. She whimpered. A Parkinson must never whimper, a voice reminded her. He said, 'You've performed better than expected, Miss Parkinson.' His hands went stroke, stroke, stroke in her hair and his voice was soft as he whispered to her. He told her how great he would be in the future and that he would be free, he would be free of the name Riddle. He told her she was a good girl and that she must be patient, that she would be rewarded. Eventually.

When she got up again her legs were stiff and it seemed that everything ached. He loomed over her and his wand was in hand. Surprisingly, she felt no fear. He could kill her but he wouldn't. Not her. Slowly and almost tenderly, like a master with his pet, he healed her. Every hurt and ache in her body smoothed away. Then he looked into her eyes.

'Until I see you again. Obliviate.'

* * *

Pansy was disappointed. the diary had revealed nothing. Even after she had written in it. Every possible password she tried revealed nothing. The ink would disappear after a pause. Maddening. She cursed loudly.

'Shut it, Pansy.' Milicent's gravelly voice was sleepy.

Pansy put the diary away, tucking it under her pillow. She would dump it back into the toilet where it belonged. Tomorrow. she drifted into dreams where boys with blue eyes laughed. high, cold laughter that echoed.

Her first thought the next morning was, 'Tom,' then it drifted away again and she wondered whether she could coax Draco into kissing her again.


End file.
